The Strawberry Patch

Once upon a time there lived a lovely and very energetic princess named Fiona.  Princess Fiona was the love and joy of the king and king, as she was their only daughter, making her the heiress to the kingdom. 
'Twas on one particularly summery day, when the sun was blazing brightly overhead that Princess Fiona and ten of her closest of friends were playing a frenzied game of running and catching.  And for the longest time the children, including the princess, sprinted about without a moment for a cool drink and a quick rest.  As they played and screamed for joy, their faces became as bright red as ripened strawberries.
The queen recognizing that the children were surely exhausting themselves called to the children asking them to enjoy a cool glass from a pitcher of freshly made tea, but the children, ever so excited to be in the hot sunshine ignored the queen's request and continued running about the garden.
Under the summer sun, as their skin became the color of strawberries, beads of sweat poked onto their hot, dirty skin.  They were the very shape of the tiny seeds found on strawberries.  The queen noticed, and became very wary of the welfare of the children, and called them in to rest, but the children refused to listen. 
The children continued under the hot summer sun, which began to wane into the western sky, and it was not long before the queen and the king noticed that the tops of the childrens' heads had turned a bright green.  Now the king, being most stern in the keeping of his good daughter, called to her in his loving and booming voice, "Princess Fiona!  It is time to come in!  This instant!"
And the princess, looking ever more like a strawberry fruit, ran to her father, the king, as her friends continued to play.
"Why must I stop playing, while they are permitted to continue?  I am the princess."
"We are your parents and we love you."
Princess Fiona grumbled as she sipped on the cold glass of tea, as her friends continued to scream and run outside.  The green top of her head returned to the light brown that she had been given at birth.  In her bath she groaned as the noises outside continued, and the seeds of sweat floated away.  And though she growled about resting, laying down in her bed, with noises outside not fading as the western setting sun, her skin returned to its golden hue.
When she awoke, the garden outside was quiet but for the nightingale singing its sweet song.  The king and queen took her gently by the hand and led her into the garden.  Much to everyone's pleasant surprise, they discovered a beautiful patch of ripened strawberries in the garden.  They were red and looked ready to pop, and Princess Fiona begged the king and queen for a wonderful snack - to which they agreed.  They allowed her to pick all ten of the strawberries.
She placed them in a bowl and her parents brought to her a bowl of fresh cream.
"What do you suppose happened to your friends?" 
Princess Fiona smiled as she placed the first one into her mouth.  It made her fingers and lips red and sticky sweet.
"I can not say father, but I do surely wish that they had stayed so that I might share these strawberries with them."
FIN

When 2 = 1 + 1 + Variable and the Art of Fragmented Romance in Marriage

I remember her walking up to me in church and introducing herself.  It is hard to say what preempted her wanting to meet me, but probably some stagy-shinanigans.  She mentioned that she had seen my name in the church bulletin, and recognized it as someone from her past.  When she walked up to me, I knew who she was, because my mom had sent me a newspaper clipping regarding her story: "Executive Returns to Her Roots to Make Kolaches".  I won't say that this is what brought me back to Pennsylvania from NYC and Japan, but it was not long after that I did just that.
"You're Hugh Harper.  I'm..."
"I know who you are."
I was not interested in this beautiful woman.  No, I had experienced quite enough.  I wanted to ride my motorcycle into the sunset alone.  I remember praying about it.
Be warned though folks; when you say things in a prayer like, "Thy will be done."  It will be.
So, the next day, I look up her shop in Beaver - this Cafe Kolache place.
"Sounds girly"
I called her and asked her if we could talk. 
And the next day, I stopped down on my motorcycle.  We sat for two hours and talked and laughed.
We courted.  I trained her to hike Pike's Peak.  Brady's Run has our Kissing Rock, and everytime - even today when we hike up there, we stop for a nice long smooch.
Oh yeah...  We got married. 
About, 5 months after we started, I knew.  I glanced over to her while driving at night and she was fast asleep in the car - her mouth was wide open.  It was a sight.  I wanted her right then.  And I had a little ring in my glove box waiting.
Thy will be done indeed.
It is funny how plans are made and changed.  Sometimes they change in the blink of an eye, and others, like a glacier altering the landscape - a long-long time.  And I look back on my single life - that torturous past, those in some cases, heinous relationships, and then I take but only a glance at life now, even under the constant strains of the financial burdens of the business, the obligations, the mood-swings and the crazy three year-old, and those moments that can crush a man, as he would crush an empty beer can and I will never ever want to take back any of that so called freedom of the single life again.
I remember early into our marriage, our family doctor telling us that I was going to need an aortic valve replaced.  She had the fattest tears in her eyes, and I could tell what she was thinking:  "Great.  Defective husband."
I remember well, our attempts at having a baby.  All those appointments, and then her etopic pregnancy, and while waiting to hear that she was out of the operation, hearing my name get paged and the doctor telling me that it was a "real mess in there".  I thought I was going to die, when I thought that she might.
I remember those stars up around Oil City.  We walked outside with her eyes closed, and then she opened them to a blanket of stars.
I remember how ill-prepared we were for Abby.  My first migraine.  The absolute joy!
And now, we enter our sixth year of marriage.  The house, the finances, the cafe, our daughter, the dog, our folks, the world spinning on its axis.
I remember being asked what it was like working with my wife.  I said that it was a "scenario ripe for comedy", and while it may be true, we work well together, and we both go through good and bad times as we muddle our way through the business - and life.  I won't have it any other way.
I come up behind her, and give her a squeeze, and life, as always, in the way.
"Ahem, a little romance."
Okay.  Abby screams out something in the background.  The cafe calls.  The dog is itching her butt on the carpet.  The buzzer from the dryer goes off.  The fire alarm explodes.  Time is not complying with our demands.  I am in my smelly t-shirt and a pair of boxer-briefs.  She has not washed her hair in two days, and has "no sleep" wrinkles under her eyes.
And she wants romance?
It'll take some figuring, but I think I can do that.
"Kristi, I love you more now than I did then."

At La Casa d'Narcissi Winery some time last year - by motorcycle!

Your Husband.